


Messy, delicious and perfect.

by Morethancupcake



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build, mention of past child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn't really know the exact moment, he can't remember the exact point in time when Tony, insufferable, loud Tony stopped being his friend and became something completely different. Something more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messy, delicious and perfect.

He doesn't really know the exact moment, he can't remember the exact point in time when Tony, insufferable, loud Tony stopped being his friend and became something completely different. Something more.

He has friends. Not a lot, but he has people he can count on. Nat, Clint, even Steve. He trusts them. At work. With small details of his life, sometimes, when they're all havig a drink after a big company event. He even stayed with them for a few days during the last seminar in Hawaii.

He trusts Tony. 

That's the big difference. It has always been his problem, his weakness according to the therapists. He can't let people in, he doesn't know how, he doesn't know how people can look into someone's eyes, and look at them with that... that thing. Like the way Barnes looks at Steve, sometimes, when they think no one is looking. 

He wishes he could do that. 

 

"I don't like orange blossom" he says over lunch. Lebanese food, because Tony has been on a mission to make him eat, and so today was chawarma and falafel. He scrunches his nose at the tea the other man is offering, and he doesn't know why the words flow out of his mouth. "One of the houses I was in, the nurse used to give us... pills. It made us sleep through the night, sometimes even more." He dares a glance at Tony, and he can see that the nonchalance is fake, Tony is listening. He cares, and he's keeping everything he's saying, probably filing it under his Bruce file. "She used to make us take orange blossom tea too, to calm us down. I used to cry because I was afraid of not waking up in the morning."

The food is good, but again, Tony just knows where to find the best. Just for you, he says when he gets everything ready on the table on the conference room they're hijacking. 

"How old were you, then ?" 

"I was five."

The food is good, and afterwards he realizes Tony is the first one he ever told this. Not even his therapist ever heard of this particular story.

He goes to sleep that night and he smiles, remembering the sound of Tony's laugh.

 

"You never talk about your father." he says one day, looking at the picture of Howard on Tony's shelf. Tony is writing, too lost into a case to quit just yet, and he nods a few times, clearly not really listening. "You could."

"I could." Bruce feels something, it's like all the demons behind Tony's eyes are here, looking at them in the center or the room. 

"Just know that... you can. Complain. Even to the orphan kid."

He can see the ghost of a smile on these beautiful lips, and it makes him feel right. He likes to be the one Tony smiles about.

They keep working in silence. 

It's almost midnight when they finally leave the building, too exhausted to try to make conversation. Tony crashes on his couch, something he does a lot these days. He likes to fall asleep to the sound of the other man, this man, moving around his place, getting comfortable under the blanket, and using the pillow now branded his. It makes him feel safe.

"Hey, Big guy."

"Yes Tony." Even from the other side of the tiny appartment, Tony can make his heart beat faster.

"I don't know if you noticed, but you're certainly not a kid anymore."

He wishes he could be pissed.

He laughs.

 

Tony likes to party. He drinks, and he laughs, and he rests heavily on Bruce's shoulder when he tries to make them both fit in the tiny elevator of his building. 

"I had a great time, big guy." he slurrs against his cheek, and his smile is like a hot brand on his skin. "I'm always having a great time when I'm with you."

"I can see that." 

They don't talk about it. About the stiff drinks and the date on the calendar. About the way Tony sometimes wakes up trying to breathe, fighting with the sheets. Bruce never knows if he should go to him, if he's allowed to. 

"Tony."

"Big guy, I just want to sleep, can you just let me sleep ?"

"What are you dreaming about, when you wake up in the middle of the night ?"

From the other side of his place, it's easier to ask. Up close, Tony is too intimidating, too bright. Bruce can't really compete with that.

"Hospital, mostly." He hears the shuffle, he hears Tony's body moving under the wool, and he tries not to want so much. He tries not to want this warmth against him, keeping them both safe. "Sometimes my dad. Sometimes you."

"Me ?" 

"You, finally seeing me for what I am." He doesn't know what to say to that. He didn't know, and it makes him sad. "I really need to sleep. Is it okay if I sleep now ?"

"Yes Tony."

Tony snores when he's drunk. It reminds him of being ten, and sharing his room with ten other kids. He sleeps with an uneasy feeling in his chest.

 

In the morning, Tony makes pancakes. They have breakfast together, and his tiny kitchen seems even smaller. Tony puts butter and syrup on everything, and he drinks orange juice straight from the bottle when Bruce isn't watching. It's homey. It's domestic. He supposes. He doesn't really know, he never had someone who made him pancakes before.

And suddenly he sees it. It's so clear, it's been there the whole time.

Tony doesn't either. That's probably why he trusts him. Tony never had his Norman Rockwell family either, and he probably dreamed of hugs and warm dinners too when he was a kid. Tony doesn't really speak, because people think money means happiness, but Bruce never managed to buy it either.

"You should put this in a drawer" he says, carefully, as he would talk to a spooked animal. His uses his fork to point at the bag Tony keeps close to the door. "It would make things easier."

"I don't have a drawer."

"Of course you have one."

 

Steve does his face, the "I'm not asking but you could tell me" face when he sees them together.  
Barnes asks, bluntly, over their coffee cups five minutes before their usual kick-off meeting, monday morning.   
Sam sends Tony texts. Lots of texts. Hilarious texts. Bruce reads them all, during said meeting.

Nat just congratulates them when she gets Tony's request for an adress change on her desk. Then she tells Clint.

 

"I could buy a new couch" Tony bounces a little, testing the cushion. "Now that it's official and everything, I feel like I should have better sleeping quarters, don't you think ?"

"I guess." They're eating spring rolls, rolled up with fresh lettuce and mint, and drenched in fish sauce. It's messy, and delicious and perfect. 

Bruce doesn't want to think about this particular choice of words, he really doesn't, but that's kind of his life now.

"What ? Am I not allowed to sleep in peace, now ? Can't a man want a little rest, Banner ? What's your problem now ? Was that couch some kind of ex-girlfriend's or boyfriend's gift I should worry about ?"

"I just don't see the point when there's a perfectly fine bed in our room."

Their first kiss tastes like vietnamese food. Tony's plate lies at his feet, sauce, salad and fried food forgotten on the floor. 

Messy, delicious and perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> My first try at a Bruce/Tony ficlet. Be kind.
> 
> As usual, comments, likes, kudos and messages are hugs to the soul and really appreciated :)
> 
> on tumblr : http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/112960419164/messy-delicious-and-perfect


End file.
